Ashes
by WriteHere
Summary: A serial killer is on the scene - can he be stopped before any more women die?
1. Default Chapter

Olivia had to jog down the dirty, busy New York street just to keep up with her partner's long, angry stride. She brushed past people, ignoring their glares and vitriol. It was of much more concern to her that her partner's face wore a stony look, his eyes bearing a cold steel. It wasn't at all suited to Elliot's normally genial personality. Yet she could completely understand why he was so angry. She wasn't too happy herself - it just hadn't got under her skin the way it had with him.  
  
"Elliot!" She called breathlessly. "Elliot!"  
  
He slowed down, albeit reluctantly. She fell into step beside him, glad that she too could slow down now. Her eyes observed him discreetly, but now she paid a little more attention to the crowds of people they were walking through. When Olivia realised Elliot wasn't going to speak to her, at least not without a little nudging, she took the lead.  
  
"I'm upset about this too, Elliot-"  
  
"Upset!" He laughed darkly, a sound that unsettled her. "I'm...furious. This guy's getting a walk."  
  
Six months of hard work, weeks' worth of unpaid overtime, and three victims had fallen foul of a tough jury and tougher judge, both of whom had decided they didn't like the prosecution's case all that much. The guy prosecuting, a temporary stand-in for their usual ADA, had made a real mess of the closing statement, which hadn't helped.  
  
"Five years is not a walk." She reminded him.  
  
"He could be out in three."  
  
It was a good point, one Olivia couldn't argue with - entirely plausible, and likely because the guy was no idiot. He would serve his time sensibly, building up the points with the authorities, and convincing everyone that he was fit to be released early, before...being released early. Way earlier than he deserved whatever happened.  
  
"But he is going away for a while."  
  
"Not long enough."  
  
Olivia Benson was clever enough to realise she wasn't going to win against his line of argument, particularly when she believed it too. So she fell into that awkward silence again, where they were both desperate to just shout about how angry they were, and how wrong that judgement had been.  
  
She rested a hand gently on her partner's arm in an attempt to calm him down. Elliot glanced sideways at her.  
  
"Come on." Olivia said quietly. "There's a cup of coffee back at the station house with my name on it."  
  
It wasn't their entrance that caught Munch and Fin's attention, but Stabler crashing into a chair. They took one look at the anger written all over his exhausted face, and both looked across at Olivia, who was leaning against her desk. She shook her head slightly. It was to be left alone, at least for now.  
  
"How did the sentencing go?"  
  
They jumped collectively. Munch and Fin twisted round to see Cragen standing unobtrusively in the doorway to his office, explaining why they hadn't heard him come in. They glanced back at Olivia, who looked more than a little uncomfortable at the question. Although she had refused to let them even ask the question, she had no real reason to refuse to answer her boss.  
  
"Not well." Was the reluctant reply. "Five years."  
  
"Five years?" Fin exclaimed in horror. That was nothing.  
  
"Bad judge, bad jury, bad prosecutor." Olivia sighed. "Chambers won't be working this kind of case again in a hurry."  
  
Munch's face wrinkled in obvious dislike. He and "the lawyer" as he referred to Chambers, didn't get along very well. "Shame."  
  
Cragen didn't bother to admonish his detective. He shared a similar view of the flashy egotist, who thought more often about his numerous women than he did about the cases he prosecuted. They had had a few run-ins, and Cragen had raised hell about his temporary promotion to ADA. It was a shame it had come to this. No, - he corrected himself - it was a disaster. A guy who should have been locked up for upwards of twenty years, given a small sentence like that? A disaster.  
  
"He could be out in three."  
  
Everyone looked at the defeated figure in the chair near Olivia. They knew he was right.  
  
"At least we got him for something." Cragen muttered.  
  
Munch snorted. "Despite Chambers' best efforts."  
  
A heavy silence fell on the team. They'd worked so hard, all of them, to collar this guy for the crimes he had undoubtedly committed, and now it seemed to be for nothing. There were few occasions when they wondered whether they were actually doing any good - and this was one of them. If a dead cert case like that could be taken apart, what chance was there for the rest of them?  
  
The Captain, seeing the mood his team was in, regretted what he was about to land them with, but due to the pressure he was under, he had no choice. He cleared his throat to catch their attention and strolled determinedly out into the main work area. Four pairs of eyes watched him with suspicious interest.  
  
"Guys - Ellie Whitfield."  
  
A collective groan went up from the group. This was about a real mess of case, a twenty-five year old accountant, found brutally murdered in an alleyway. The case had originally belonged to Homicide, but they had handed it over after discovering that the victim had been raped. In other words, they didn't want to touch it with a ten-foot bargepole.  
  
There was little evidence - a few black woollen fibres, of the type to be found in any mid-priced knit-item - and no eyewitnesses. She had been found when the garbage men had turned up to empty the bins. They'd gotten one hell of a shock, discovering her body - it was grotesque, even by death's standards. No hairs, no prints.  
  
"We need to concentrate on this one." Cragen informed them. "All of us."  
  
"Who did she know?" Munch asked cynically.  
  
As it turned out, he wasn't too far from the truth. "The DA's niece worked with her. He is....keen for her killer to be uncovered yesterday, so let's get on this, OK?"  
  
His team muttered under their breaths. They didn't feel that Whitfield's case deserved any less attention than it was about to get, just that it didn't deserve any more than their other, equally disturbing cases. It seemed like those who knew people were automatically more important.  
  
Elliot stood reluctantly in the doorway, watching as Munch crouched down next to the horrifically mutilated body of a woman. Fin picked his way over and did the same, opposite his partner. They were obviously discussing the case, but he could barely hear their hushed voices from where he was, much less make out the words. From where he was, he could tell two immediate things about the victim. She had been in pretty good shape when she died, and she had put up one hell of a fight for her life. Also - also - it looked very much like the Whitfield case, in that her body was staged and mutilated.  
  
He took a deep breath and swallowed, to combat the sudden wave of nausea that had hit him. Forensics would kill him if he threw up. Elliot closed his eyes, remembering the photographs of Ellie Whitfield's body. Capturing in glossy Technicolor the way she had been attacked - a razor, according to those who knew how to find out these things. Parts of her metres from her actual body. Parts of her still missing, presumed to have been taken by the killer as trophies. Amongst the carnage, the killer had left a business card. It was creamy-coloured, thick - the type businessmen use when trying to impress people with their wealth and success. But it was also blank. Ellie Whitfield had of course been raped - no evidence there either. The killer had thought it out.  
  
A set of footsteps, not heavy, jerked Elliot out of his daze. He opened his eyes, knowing already that his partner was standing right next to him. Olivia let out a deep breath. She hadn't been fully prepared for how horrendous this scene was. Her eyes, over-stimulated by too much coffee, flickered from the body to her partner and back again. He had reclosed his eyes, remembering the second body.  
  
Fourty-two year old Wilma Parks had left behind her a legion of distraught children, who had been sent to live with various aunts and uncles, excepting the two eldest. Unlike Whitfield, she had not been well- off. Her job as a nanny to one of New York's richer families had brought her into contact with money though. Three days a week she had slept at the Robinsons' luxurious home, without ever being able to even dream of being able to afford almost anything they owned.  
  
It was hard to find similarities between the two victims. Ellie had been slim, young, blonde and successful. Wilma had been fast-approaching middle age, with a waistline falling victim to the effects of having seven kids. Her slightly olive complexion and engagingly red-dyed hair had made striking contrasts to the first victim. The hair, her most distinctive and least real feature, had been hacked off and strewn carelessly around. Her body had been mutilated and staged. A business card had been left at the scene, blank again.  
  
"You OK, Elliot?" Olivia asked in a low, throaty voice, that suggested she was remembering a few things herself.  
  
"Yeah. Cmon." He said abruptly.  
  
They moved swiftly but carefully across the room. It was neat in a way that Wilma Parks' home hadn't been (they guessed it was hard to keep a place neat when you worked long days and had five kids at home), although both were pretty clean. Whitfield's case was a little different. Olivia crouched down slowly next to Fin, Elliot next to Munch. They surveyed the body. It had definitely been staged, that much was obvious. There could be no jumping to conclusions about this though.  
  
After a report on the links between the Whitfield and Parks cases had been completed, many details had been leaked by persons unknown to the media. They'd jumped on it, writing article after article. It had come up on TV news as well, which was to be expected. A copycat might have taken advantage of that to blame this murder on "The Cutter" (an insensitive nickname assigned to the killer by some semi-competent journalist).  
  
Benson spoke up. "What do we know so far?"  
  
"Not much." Munch admitted. "Body's cold, she's been here a while. Holli Griffin, a twenty-six year old receptionist at a local window sales firm. She was engaged."  
  
"Same killer?" Elliot asked anxiously.  
  
His colleague shrugged. They couldn't be sure, but they all knew it looked like it. Olivia was getting a weird sinking feeling about all this. She noted the dubious glances between Munch and his partner. Fin took from his jacket pocket a small plastic bag, and handed it gingerly to Elliot. The latter smoothed out the wrinkled surface and read the card inside.  
  
A cold sweat washed over her as she saw his face reflect first concentration, then digust, fear, anger, and finally sheer malevolence. But somehow the mask that covered all that got to her most. He was determined to catch this guy. It was......right, but unnerving.  
  
Stabler handed Olivia the bag. "Read it." He said shortly.  
  
She lowered her gaze and her heart went from sinking to sunk. Almost as soon as her fingers touched the plastic bag, the blurred letters embossed into the thick card became clear to her. Her own expression transformed to one of anger. It read simply - "ELLIOT STABLER - FOR YOU". Olivia swore under her breath. This was turning out to be a real bitch of a case. 


	2. 2

Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me, oops forgot to say that last time!!!  
  
She lay contentedly in his arms, happy just to exist in that moment, basking in warmth and safety. She was totally at ease with Mike, something she rarely felt with her husband these days. Kathy's love for Elliot wasn't gone, but it had changed in so many ways. For now she didn't want to think about that - about him - because it would have ruined the rare moment of peace.  
  
One of the reasons she went over to Mike's was the way he had decorated his bedroom. She knew he smartened it up considerably for her visits, but still it struck her as amazing. He had a low bed, without bedposts, incredibly comfortable. A scent of lavender or rosemary was always on the air, just enough to be noticed, but just little enough to be elusive. It was painted a gorgeous blue, calming to her senses after a houseful of children and stress. And there was quiet.  
  
A shrill sound interrupted her reverie - irony which didn't go unnoticed as she curled her lip in annoyance. Kathy reached across Mike, dodging the affectionate, light kiss of her lover, and picked up her mobile phone. She stabbed irritably at the plastic, just about hitting the "answer" button.  
  
"Hi Elliot." She said sleepily. Mike waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially.  
  
On the other end of the line, Elliot sounded tired, shocked - not like himself at all. A jolt of concern went through her unexpectedly. "I'm coming home on time tonight. We found another body."  
  
"Oh my God!" She exclaimed, sitting up clumsily. "Was it....like the others?"  
  
When she didn't hear anything at the other end of the line except static crackling, Kathy felt her heart jump all over her chest. She had read the papers like everyone else in the city. He had refused to talk about it, even when their daughter had tried to get information out of him by trickery. Elliot was totally clammed up about this one - Cragen's influence was a factor, Kathy knew.  
  
"Yup." He finally said, although there was a vague note in his voice that suggested he might be hiding something from her.  
  
Kathy decided not to press the point right then. She didn't need to have a heart-to-heart with her husband while lying in bed with her lover. Her brain could not handle that one. So instead she went along with it. "OK. Well - I'll see you at home, honey."  
  
"Love you, Kathy."  
  
She avoided her lover's intense gaze. "Love you too." Kathy said gently.  
  
She switched the phone off, so as to avoid any further calls, and put it back on the bedside table. There was an air about Mike's bedroom now, and it was neither lavender nor rosemary. It was finality. He was looking at her with eyes that had already discovered what they didn't want to know. Seeking reassurance he wouldn't get. Suddenly Kathy realised how deep in this fling she'd got herself. Elliot she loved. However difficult things could be, she loved him. Mike she lusted after. It wasn't remotely the same thing.  
  
"You're not coming back." Mike sighed. It was a statement of fact, not a question. As he uttered it, the little spark in his eyes that was totally connected to her flickered out. This was best though, in the long run, for all of them.  
  
Kathy smiled sadly. "No. Probably not."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Munch sat very reluctantly in Iain Culshaw's kitchen. The guy had been Holli Griffin's fiancé, so they were being as delicate as possible without letting up the questions they needed to ask. He was pretty shaken up, as was to be expected. Actually, he was quivering like a leaf. Munch for one, had not wanted to take this part of the investigation, but he had noticed Stabler's mood that morning. Bear with a sore head didn't even cover it, and who could blame him? They certainly didn't need him round delicate situations like this right now.  
  
Culshaw's face was grey, heavily-lined. At fifty years old he had definitely been the senior half of the relationship. He looked terrible. Blotchy skin, red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes. Either Culshaw was genuine or he was one hell of an actor.  
  
"Mr Culshaw," Munch began gently, "when did you last see Holli?"  
  
"Uh - Iain, please. We had an argument last Tuesday -she stormed off." He murmured. "But I rang her to apologise. We were going to dinner tomorrow night to make up for it."  
  
"If you don't mind me asking - what was the argument about?"  
  
Iain looked up at the two detectives and smiled sadly. "It was about where we were going to go on our honeymoon."  
  
Munch exchanged a glance with Fin. Yeah, they were pretty much feeling sorry for this guy now. Whatever the age differences, whatever the differences in how much money they earned - he had obviously really loved her.  
  
"Iain, did she seem at all distracted to you? Unhappy?" Fin asked, leaning forward over the kitchen counter, trying to catch what the guy was saying more clearly.  
  
Culshaw sighed. "Apart from being pissed at me? No." He stretched out, revealing the length of his arms and fingers. "Holli was a pretty fiery character. She stood up for herself. That's why I loved her."  
  
"Was there anyone who might have had a problem with Holli - at work, or in her private life?" Munch persisted.  
  
"Uh - my daughter and her didn't get along, but my daughter lives in Germany with her husband and their kids. And her boss was always shouting at her, but Holli would shout right back. Holli knew how to look after herself is my point." Iain Culshaw rose gingerly from his stool and padded quickly across the kitchen tiles in bare feet. He pulled open a door, took something out, and ambled back. "This was Holli's personal organiser. I'm surprised she didn't have it with her when - you know."  
  
He handed over what might have been described as a "well-loved" book. It was crammed full of extra bits of paper, Post-It notes and assorted bits and pieces. Once upon a time it had been a beautiful black leather organiser, a perfect Christmas present. The gold leaf decoration was gone, but the indentation of Holli's initials remained on the side, which itself had been patched up over and over with Sellotape...staples...God only knew what. Fin turned it over in his hands. Clearly it had been very expensive item once. He slipped it into a plastic bag, then into his pocket.  
  
Munch had asked their final few questions in the meantime, and was just thanking Iain Culshaw for his time. Every bone in his body was telling him that Culshaw was no killer - the same went for Fin - but instincts were not always correct. There was a good chance that he could be an opportunistic copycat. Although he had a good alibi, they had yet to check it out.  
  
According to the man, he had been working very long hours in order to forget the argument with Holli and make up some mistakes made by a colleague. Two birds, as he pointed out. After that, the previous two nights he'd spent in company. Once with his ex-wife, going to speak with their son Thomas' principal at his home (that had provoked a loud row on the way home). Once with work colleagues, at a leaving party for one of the secretaries, a popular woman.  
  
Just as they had finished shaking his hand and were getting up to go, Culshaw's hand flew to his forehead. He swore and began stammering something out. Fin sat the poor guy down and waited for the words to flow.  
  
"A-a-an ex- he used to pester her. There was a restraining order once. Ramon. Yeah, I think his name's Ramon. And some of her neighbours weren't all that nice."  
  
Munch raised an eyebrow. "Can you tell us anything more about this Ramon?"  
  
"Uh-" he paused -"only that he used to work in the Starbucks at the end of her block. They fired him - but they might know where he went to, a few of them used to go out drinking with him according to...Holli." He trailed off, looking absolutely devastated. Both Munch and Fin realised it was time they left.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Olivia had spent the whole morning watching her partner like a hawk. He had calmed down some, but the appalling mood he'd arrived for work with had not been entirely lifted. Thankfully his intense irritability had borne some fruit, as far as questioning Holli Griffin's workmates was concerned. They'd found out a little more about the young receptionist.  
  
Apparently (and this had been confirmed during a phonecall from Fin), Holli had had a long-running feud with a jealous ex, Raymond Ziegler. It had eben a messy breakup, largely due to her relevation that she had been cheating on him for virtually the whole time they'd been together. First with another ex, who turned out to be a cop with a perfect alibi, then with Iain Culshaw. From what they could ascertain, there was some doubt about her feelings for Culshaw amongst the gossips in the company.  
  
They were back at the office now, partly waiting for Munch and Fin to get back from pestering Forensics (who had taken to disappearing every time an SVU detective came anywhere near them), and partly comparing the information they had on Griffin so far with that from the Parks and Whitfield cases. It didn't look too good. If you went by young women, Parks was the "problem" in the pattern. If it was by social status, Whitfield bucked the trend. Plus the killer appeared to be pretty efficient. No DNA.  
  
"What's up, campers?"  
  
Olivia jumped, her heart taknig a triple-jump up through her throat. She span round and glared at Munch, but couldn't keep it up for long. They exchanged tired smiles. Fin strolled in with the Captain, behind his older partner, and nodded in greeting at Benson. All four noticed that Elliot had not even looked up.  
  
"OK," Cragen sighed, "Benson, Stabler - what've you got?"  
  
Olivia took up the lead, well aware that her partner wouldn't. "Well they brought up Raymond Zeigler and another ex of Holli's. He works in Narc - Nick Galliano."  
  
Cragen raised his eyebrows in interest. "Really? Galliano?"  
  
"He's got an alibi. We haven't been able to find Raymond yet. Apparently Ms. Griffin was not faithful. At least not with Zeigler. She cheated on him with Galliano and Culshaw." Olivia informed him. She took a deep breath. "We also know that she suggested more than once that it was Culshaw's money and social status that kept her around."  
  
"There could be other boyfriends then." Fin pointed out. "And Culshaw gave us this."  
  
He pulled the plastic bag containing the battered but still identifiable personal organiser out of his pocket. As he ahd known it would, it created a great deal of interest. Who knew how many people Griffin ahd been strining along? It was possible too that she had had a change of heart. And how had Culshaw's children (aside from the daughter in Germany) felt about her presence in their father's life? Too many questions.  
  
. 


	3. 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue, I haven't got any money anyway!  
  
Fin turned the plastic bag over and over in his hands, contemplating first the now familiar words on the front of the business card. They still provoked a feeling of confusion and anger. But it was the words on the back, the words scrawled hastily in a shaky hand, with light grey pencil that got to him the most. They were bizarre - "IN PLACE OF YOUR CONSCIENCE". They made no sense, and noone had been able to work out what they meant yet either. It seemed likely that someone Stabler had helped put away was hell-bent on revenge, but something didn't quite fit.  
  
"Making any sense of it?"  
  
He looked up at his partner and shook his head grimly. This case was so big they'd managed to draft in a detective from Narcotics - Lawson, green and inexperienced, but an extra man nonetheless. Still they were getting nowhere.  
  
"Not yet." Fin grudgingly admitted. "You?"  
  
Munch shrugged, a gesture as natural as breathing to him. "Jehovah's Witnesses called at Griffin's house two days ago. Day before she was killed...."  
  
"They called at Whitfield's too."  
  
The older detective shook his head. "They already called in. Good alibis and very helpful. Everything's being checked, but....it wasn't them."  
  
"What about the door-to-doors?"  
  
"Quick Clean. They do all kinds of domestic items, but their main source of income? Door-to-door vacuum sales." Munch explained.  
  
Fin rolled his eyes. "Fascinating. Let's check it out." He caught his partner's eye. "Already being done?" He recieved an affirmative response and muttered obscenely under his breath.  
  
Chances were that this would turn up nothing, but they had to check the company and its representatives out, tick them off the list. And there was always a possibility that they might strike lucky. It had been two days since the Griffin murder (one and a half since the discovery of her body in the early hours). Judging by the gaps between the murders so far, they had two days left before another body turned up. Not enough time. Fin tapped his fingers impatiently against his desk, a habit Munch had snapped at him more than once about. Frustration. Things just weren't moving fast enough for him. For any of them, he reminded himself.  
  
"Guys? How's it going?" Cragen called from his office doorway. He looked tired and drawn, his detectives noted.  
  
"It's not." Fin countered shortly.  
  
The Captain chose to ignore that. Instead he walked slowly across the room and picked up the note. He read over it twice, thoroughly and sighed.  
  
"This is ridiculous." He muttered. "The note's deliberately vague, this guy wants to piss us all off."  
  
Munch looked up. "Someone getting on your back?"  
  
"Look, John, apart from Elliot's old cases and Raymond Ziegler - who happens to be missing - we have nothing. And people are worried." Cragen said.  
  
There was a silence, during which each of them thought along the same track. If it turned out that Ziegler wasn't involved, wasn't guilty of any of the three murders - that left only Stabler as the connection. And that could be the murderer's way of messing with the case. His name had only come up after the leaks to the press. Which in turn meant that it could have been any one of them in his situation.  
  
"OK. OK." Cragen muttered tiredly. "Guys, I want you to check in with Forensics too, see if we can't hurry them along a little bit. I'm going to be trying to get us some more manpower."  
  
"Politics." Fin snapped under his breath darkly.  
  
"Diplomacy." His boss countered.  
  
The detective had the good grace to look abashed. He conceded the point. Someone needed to take care of that side of things, so the investigation could run as smoothly as possible. Cragen did it well - he had the experience - he knew that. Fin didn't envy him the task.  
  
Cragen was already halfway out the door when he turned back, a solemn expression on his face. "Let's hope we get a break soon."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Benson and Stabler were having only a marginally better time. Their task to find the elusive Raymond Ziegler was difficult, leading them all over the place. A few questions in Holli Griffin's local Starbucks had revealed that he wasn't a well-liked man. Apart from one lone man, all his co-workers had loathed him. Which was nothing, incidentally, to how the managers felt about him. Ziegler's break-up with Griffin had lead to her gaining an injunction against him, providing his bosses with a perfect excuse to fire him. That had been six months ago.  
  
The lone friend of Ziegler's was Wayne Phillips, a nervy man who had been operating the espresso machine when they'd walked into the identikit coffee shop. He had apparently gone drinking with Raymond two or three times a week every week while the latter was employed at Starbucks, and a couple of times after he was fired. According to some of the other employees, Ziegler had been something of a bully, enjoying the fact that he could behave how he liked to Phillips, and the guy would stick by him. They'd been a little sympathetic to the obviously downtrodden espresso- operator.  
  
Olivia quickly formed the opinion that although he wasn't a particularly pleasant man, he was fairly harmless. Just as quickly, she reformed the idea to include the fact that he was a manipulative weasel. Phillips had been unwilling to provide them with any information pertaining to the whereabouts of his old friend until they had pointed out that he could be prosecuted for protecting Ziegler. Phillips had given up an old home number.  
  
That had led the detectives to a run-down old apartment building. It was the kind of place that made you glad you were doing OK, and made Elliot glad he was bringing his kids up in good circumstances. Rats and cockroaches infested most of the floors, and somewhere round the front entrance, there was a wasps nest. It stank, of urine and damp - yellowy- green streaks of mossy substance creeping and snaking wetly up the walls. Round the doors, on the steps, a group of disaffected youths smoked and talked, having nothing else to do. The arrival of the detectives silenced them, but only for a moment.  
  
As it turned out, Ziegler had been kicked out five months ago. Before being fired he'd been scraping by with the rent, with his girlfriend's help (that part piqued their interest), but afterwards he'd fallen far enough behind that he'd been kicked out. Apart from the old lady living next door to Ziegler's old apartment, noone seemed to know anything. She had informed Benson that the girlfriend, known only as "Evie", a pretty young Hispanic woman, worked in the nearest McDonald's - had done for some time.  
  
That was why they were standing outside the plastic-filled fast-food restaurant. The manager had refused to let them in, insisting that their presence would make his staff and customers edgy. Considering some of his clientele, that was probably true. Instead they had settled themselves outside the restaurant, driving away customers whilst not actually on his premises. After a fit of apoplectic rage, the manager had agreed to let Evie talk to them, as long as they did finally leave.  
  
Benson and Stabler waited patiently outside, smiling at passing groups of teenagers - some innocently passing, some on their way home from school, and yet more who probably weren't so innocent. They were acting as cop-like as possible. To be honest, they were both getting a kick out of it too.  
  
"All right I'm here. You nearly got me fired by the way."  
  
A woman had emerged from the restaurant, clad in McDonald's uniform. Evie. She was indeed tiny - absolutely no more than five feet two inches, to the top of her plaited head. Her hair, neatly tied back, twisted in an attempt at decoration, was reddish-brown, the colour of rust and autumn leaves. She was so slight. Her arms were folded, signifying her annoyance, and the way her eyes flitted from object to object, not making eye contact with the detectives suggested an unsettled nature. Or a guilty conscience. Neither of the detectives wanted to know if it didn't pertain to their case.  
  
"Evie. I'm Detective Stabler, this is my partner Detective Benson." Elliot said calmly. He looked sideways at his partner. She nodded at him to proceed.  
  
"Stabler and Benson. That's what I'm calling you huh?" Evie said sourly. "Well," she sighed, with more than a hint of exhaustion, "I ain't talking to you round here. Let's walk."  
  
They followed her lead, walking down the street making every attempt not to draw attention to themselves. Evie was an expert at this. She faded so easily into the background. Olivia began to worry about her without even meaning to. She was a woman trying so hard to survive that her life was being chipped away. Much like the women she worked with so often, in fact, in her place at the SVU.  
  
"So, what do you want?" Evie asked, after a while.  
  
"We need to find Raymond Ziegler."  
  
Olivia was surprised he'd been so blunt, but then Evie seemed to appreciate. With a wrinkle of her small features, she expressed her revulsion.  
  
"He's an asshole." She spat, with unexpected venom. "He hit me, and I don't have anything to do with him anymore."  
  
"He hit you?" Elliot repeated in surprise. She nodded her adamant confirmation. "Yeah. Just once, but it was enough. Broke a tooth. Asshole."  
  
"Do you know where he is now? It's really important." He asked, softening his tones enough to make her see how genuine he was.  
  
Evie stopped in the street, ignoring the annoyed cry of some drunken jerk who brushed roughly past her. Olivia was not surprised to see her partner cast said jerk an angry look. 'He can be so protective sometimes' she thought, smiling inwardly.  
  
Evie sighed reluctantly. "Yeah, well I know where he worked last time I spoke to him. Ricky's Autoshop. Y'know, the one with the burnt-out Lincoln outside?" She got two nods of recognition. "And that's all I know. Please don't bother me at work again."  
  
She turned to leave the detectives, only to be stopped by Stabler. He reached into his jacket pocket, drew out a card with his name and number on it, and silently handed it over. Evie smiled briefly, the only positive emotion they had seen from her, and took it.  
  
"She's got brains anyway." He said quietly. Olivia raised a questioning eyebrow, so he explained. "She left Raymond." 


	4. 4

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
They walked into Ricky's Autoshop with more than a little urgency. It was due to close for the night any minute. Fortunately it seemed like there were a couple of customers waiting to be seen. Benson went first, simply by chance, and made her way straight for the owner. He was a visually unpleasant man, but wore an unpleasant look in his eyes too.  
  
Elliot was on his guard from the first, and caught up with Olivia just as she stopped in front of the owner. He looked cautiously around - they had caught some attention. Apparently the customers here were as edgy as the ones from the McDonald's. One young man bartering over a piece of an engine turned on his heel and walked right out. The hard edge of Elliot's soul wondered how many crimes he'd committed at all of -what - twenty years old?  
  
"Uh - Nathan Yaney?" Benson asked. Her face was a mask of professionalism.  
  
He nodded. "Cops." It was a statement, not a question, and for a second both of them wondered how it was so easy to spot a cop.  
  
"Detective Benson- " she flipped open her badge -"and my partner, Detective Stabler."  
  
"Yeah. What do you want?"  
  
Despite herself, Olivia felt her nose wrinkling in disgust at the acrid smell of something she definitely did not want to know about, emanating from Nathan's general area. It was a potent mixture when combined with the man's unique body odour problem. Clearly this was a man not well- versed in the area of personal hygiene.  
  
His overalls were inexpertly patched up, with a coarse black thread (and in one area, a yellowing length of string). They looked like they had never seen the inside of a washing machine, or even water. Streaks of ketchup, mustard, oil, grease and God-only-knew what else had turned the uniform from the original prison-style blue to muddy colors of caked-on grime. Bits of skin, evidence of dry scalp or dandruff, snowed down on his shoulders. And that wasn't the least of it.  
  
Nathan himself was no oil painting. Greasy slick comb-over, balding in such a bad way. Awful skin that betrayed his inability to stop squeezing his spots. He was overweight, but not by much. The worst aspect of his altogether uncared-for appearance was his teeth. They were yellowy-brown, thick with plaque and bits of food, ruining the fact that they were almost all perfectly straight.  
  
Olivia mentally shook herself. His appearance was not something she really cared about. She had a man to find, and quick.  
  
"We need to speak to one of your employees - Raymond Ziegler." She said.  
  
There was a rolling of the eyes that spoke volumes. "RAY!" Yaney shouted carelessly across the garage. "Get your ass over here!"  
  
He walked lazily over to the cheap coffee maker standing in the corner. He poured himself some, then as an afterthought offered Benson and Stabler a cup. They declined. He shrugged, and wandered into his office, slamming the door behind him.  
  
"Wise move. His coffee sucks."  
  
Both detectives turned quickly, and got their first look at Raymond Ziegler. There was an odd air about him, like he was two sides of a coin in one. Part of him was dangerous, violent, aggressive, and terrible to know. The other was calmer, much more considered, and even quite intelligent. Olivia wasn't sure what to make of him. Her partner, however, seemed absolutely sure.  
  
All Elliot could see was the mechanic, a big man at six foot plus tall, bulky and muscular, taking a swing at little Evie with one of his massive fists. It boiled his blood, made him angry, and his fists clenched into balls. But he held back, mindful of his partner's watching eye. He missed the other side of Ziegler's nature, the softer side that seemed more...real. More a part of him.  
  
"Does it." Benson said, with a total lack of interest. "Raymond Ziegler-"  
  
The big man interrupted, waving his hand lazily. "You're the cops."  
  
"Detectives Benson-" she indicated her partner - "and Stabler."  
  
A wrinkle of his nose was all that gave away Ziegler's uneasiness. He wasn't as sure of himself as he had been strolling over to the sound of his boss' yell. Presumably he was the kind of guy with a few skeletons in his closet. Stabler (who was still doing his utmost not to hit the man) didn't miss that. His jaw clicked as he ground his teeth to keep some antagonistic remark escaping. Ziegler had begun to notice the waves of animosity and aggression that were wafting over from the detective like a bad smell. His eyes darted in the other man's direction with increasing regularity. Olivia was surprised at how nervous he was - almost frightened of her partner, who was much the smaller man.  
  
"Did Holli make another complaint?" Raymond asked with a heavy sigh. "I've been keeping away from her this time, detectives. I have learnt my lesson."  
  
Strangely enough, Olivia was tempted to believe him. She shook herself free of distracting thoughts though, and pressed ahead - but too late.  
  
"No, Raymond, she's dead." Elliot spat angrily. He stepped forward, his mind pulling free of professional restraint. "Raped and murdered. Now where were you two nights ago?"  
  
The two men were locked into each other's line of sight. Olivia felt her heart thudding in her chest, and suddenly realised that this was about to go bad really fast, unless she did something. Her hand, rested gently on her partner's shoulder, was shaken off unceremoniously. The sharp tang of sweat, distinctive and repulsive also, tinged the air, telling Olivia that Nathan Yaney had come out off his office to watch the sideshow.  
  
Behind Ziegler, two other mechanics laid down their tools and crouched down on the floor, eager to watch what was going on (no doubt cheering silently for their colleague), whilst keeping out of the line of fire. A father, who had come in to find a cheap deal on fixing one of his windows with his sullen teenage daughter, left quickly. It was never a good idea to get caught up in a violent incident where the police were involved.  
  
"I was out with some of the guys." Ziegler returned defiantly.  
  
"Oh yeah? Well, I'm sure you'll be backed up."  
  
"I will. Right guys?" A few murmured agreements followed the mechanic's bold assertion.  
  
Elliot stepped closer to Raymond, and began to speak very quietly, so just the two of them could hear. "I know what you did. And I'm going to get you for it. Wouldn't she sleep with you Raymond?"  
  
"I didn't-" he tried to protest.  
  
"You didn't, you didn't. Bull. You're not satisfied with hitting women anymore, so you have to go further." The detective hissed, the veins on his forehead standing out starkly. He was vaguely aware of Olivia trying to calm him down. "What's the matter Ray? You gotta feel like a big man?"  
  
Ziegler was trying to turn away, trying to escape the increasingly aggressive stance Stabler was taking, and the statements posed as questions that he didn't like the sound of.  
  
"Aww RAy, don't you like the attention? We'll get you, you sonofabitch."  
  
"Elliot-" Olivia warned. To him she sounded so far away as to be imaginary. He ignored her warning.  
  
He caught Ziegler's eye and fixed the gaze. "You did this to get a woman. Can't get one any other way, can you Ray? What, you gotta compensate for having a small d-" 


	5. 5

Strip lighting lent the noisy corridor an air of eerie otherworldliness - a sickly light that reflected so well the function of the structure. It gave everyone's skin an unhealthy, slick sheen. Olivia was no different, though her already ghostly pallor didn't help. It was busy, bustling, noisy, yet also oddly quiet - like everything was around, yet also far away at the same time. She swallowed and let her head fall tiredly into her hands. The events of the day had taken their toll on her body, and the time was catching up on her.  
  
Olivia checked her watch - an inexpensive steel-framed affair, with a simple black leather strap. There was no point in wearing anything expensive to work, that much she had learnt during her years as a cop. Her mouth gaped open in an involuntary yawn, a sign that she really did need some rest, but she suppressed it. Ignored it.  
  
"Olivia?" The soft voice made her jump nearly out of her seat, but a gentle hand on her shoulder proved a calming influence. It was Munch.  
  
She smiled. "Hey."  
  
"He OK?" Fin asked brusquely. He cared, he really did, but he liked to get quickly to the point. Olivia found herself appreciating it. But that didn't change her answer.  
  
"I don't know - they haven't come back to me yet."  
  
The two men said nothing, but slumped down in chairs either side of her, a protective gesture that did not go unnoticed by anyone. They fixed gazes on the featureless, yellowy-green painted wall, trying not to think too much. Olivia returned to her former, hunched position, her eyes focused on a dried piece of chewing gum on the floor - for no other reason than that it was there. It had formed an almost perfect oval shape, although it bore the marks of someone's shoes. The analytical part of Olivia's mind thought they might have been trainers. Large trainers.  
  
Munch was first to notice the arrival of their captain, who was striding down the hallway at some pace. He looked worried, but a little angry too. Evidently he'd heard a few things, and wanted to hear it all. Cragen caught his detective's warning look, and cooled a little. He sat on the opposite side of the hallway, and tried to catch Olivia's eye.  
  
She noticed him and sighed. "The doctors haven't told us anything yet. I don't think its too serious..." Her voice trailed off sounding forlorn.  
  
"Good. What the hell happened?" His voice was suddenly stern, but not harsh.  
  
"We went to Ricky's Autoshop to talk to Raymond Ziegler." Olivia said, her voice suddenly stronger as she found a steady area of conversation.  
  
"The place with the burnt-out Lincoln in front." Fin said knowledgeably.  
  
She nodded, and explained how they'd been lead there via Evie's information. She explained how the owner had been....unpleasant, but had allowed them to talk to Ziegler. And, reluctantly, she explained how she had felt on seeing the man. His two-sided personality, that shone through with honesty, if nothing else. He had been helpful at first, if a little dubious about their presence. Nothing that they hadn't encountered a million and one times before.  
  
"And then?" Cragen asked, knowing full well he wasn't going to like what came next.  
  
Olivia scratched her neck absent-mindedly and began to relate the tale of how it had gone wrong. "Well - Elliot started getting a little....uh..."  
  
"Aggressive?" Munch said. His lined face wore a sympathetic expression.  
  
She nodded. "Yeah, a little aggressive. He started accusing Ziegler of murdering Holli Griffin, implied he knew Ziegler had hit Evie."  
  
"Had he?" Cragen asked with sudden interest. "Record of violence..."  
  
Olivia shook her head. "Yeah I can't see him for the Griffin murder. He genuinely seemed surprised she was dead, genuinely surprised why we were there."  
  
Just then the arrival of a man who looked far too young for his profession, a baby-faced junior doctor, disturbed the conversation. He dithered momentarily on the edge of the group before Cragen put him at ease by asking simply how his detective was doing.  
  
"Uh- he's -uh- gonna be fine. Nasty bruise on his head, a couple of stitches, and a hell of a headache, but otherwise he's OK." The doctor smiled nervously. "Oh," he said, realising what else they were waiting for, "you can go in. Not too long."  
  
As the doctor scuttled away, Cragen stood. He looked directly at Fin and Munch , and explained that despite the day's events, he expected them to follow up what they had been working on. They could see Stabler, briefly, but then they were to go back to the office and finish up. Neither of them objected. They knew what was necessary.  
  
The trio entered the hospital room, gingerly pushing open the swing door and filing in one by one. Olivia went first, Cragen second, then Munch, and finally Fin. They stood anxiously behind the curtain, and waited for the nurse to draw it. She pulled the faded, patched, flowery material in a big bunch and tied it so the detectives could sit by the bed undisturbed by fabric.  
  
He looked very pale, and there was a large piece of bandage taped on his forehead. Very pale. Olivia suddenly felt sick, and almost fell into the chair closest to him. She heard the sound of chair legs scraping against the floor, and assumed (correctly) that the others were also making themselves comfortable. He hadn't moved. Not an inch. Her heart was beating way too fast, and her brain was running through all the things that could have happened in that garage. His eyes opened, a flicker of the lids, then blue. She sighed with relief.  
  
Elliot winced. His head felt like it was about to explode. A million shards hitting the inside of his skull, and boy did it hurt. His sight was pretty clear, but the light was painful. He was glad to see Olivia there, although he'd like to have seen his wife there too. Seeing past his partner, Elliot noticed the others. Cragen looked like he was torn between being angry and being concerned, which couldn't be good. He needed to know what about.  
  
"What happened?" He croaked out, his throat betraying him.  
  
They looked surprised. Olivia leant forward, with an expression of worry etched over her face. "You don't remember?"  
  
"I remember talking to....that guy. The one who smelled bad."  
  
She gave a lopsided smile. "Nathan Yaney."  
  
"Yeah." Elliot said quietly. "That's the one. After that it's a bit fuzzy."  
  
His partner glanced back at the other SVU detectives and frowned.  
  
"You wound up Raymond Ziegler. Accused him of murder." Olivia explained. "And he hit you."  
  
Elliot's hand inched around the large wound and bruise that felt like it was covering half his head. His fingers prodded here and there. A stabbing pain made him wince.  
  
"Raymond's fist did that?" He said in disbelief.  
  
Olivia couldn't quite mask a wry smile. "No," she said, "the spanner he was holding in his hand did that." 


	6. 6

Cragen was quite proud of himself for keeping his temper. He had temporarily lost the services of one of the NYPD's best detectives, he hadn't slept properly in weeks, and yet he had somehow managed not to bite anyone's head off. Yet. He was particularly proud of not having bawled Stabler out in front of half the hospital. That could be saved for later.  
  
The thing was, good as Lawson might be, he was not Elliot. Stabler and Benson complemented each other's "styles", just as John and Fin did. Just as the best detectives did. Lawson was friendly, helpful - but inexperienced and more like an apprentice than anything else. Still, Cragen mused, as he leant his stocky frame against the edge of a desk, he had been doing OK so far, with Olivia watching his back.  
  
Munch looked up at his C.O., and offered a wry smile. It wasn't going so well. Whitfield had been squeaky-clean, and her association with the mayor's niece only made life more difficult. Parks had been a good woman, who had worked herself to the bone for her kids. They had been distraught, absolutely distraught. And there was nothing to suggest that anyone would have a motive. Like Huang said - this wasn't about the women. This was about the killer. Apart from the undoubtedly unpleasant Griffin, they had been decent people. Griffin had cheated on her partners. She had been on the verge of getting involved with Thomas Culshaw, a seventeen-year old wild child. Griffin was the only who had any real enemies. And they did not seem to fit the crime. So they were left with nothing.  
  
Not even the reluctant investigation of the door-to-door salespersons, paper deliveries and so on had turned anything up. They had been unable to link the various employees and companies with the deaths, and quite frankly noone was surprised about that. This was something else. Someone who didn't know the women, but knew enough to avoid being noticed. Weird.  
  
"Anything?" Cragen sighed, disturbing the silent work being carried out by Munch and Fin.  
  
Fin shrugged. "Nothing from the diary." He held up Griffin's appointment book. "All's we know is that Holli Griffin had more than one boyfriend, and she liked to go out. Rosy's Bar, Apollo's Bar.....the kinds of places where the drinks cost."  
  
"And nothing from the note." Munch remarked tiredly. His captain noticed the familiar bags under the detective's eyes. This case was wearing everyone out, not just himself.  
  
"Forensics came back?" Said Cragen.  
  
"Yeah. No prints - its just a basic print job, expensive, but you can buy the stuff out of any decent supplies store. High-end, but accessible." He frowned. "The only thing we know is that there's a drop of alcohol on the card."  
  
"Do we know what kind?"  
  
Munch nodded. "Sambuca."  
  
Fin attempted a amile, and was moderately successful. "We're looking for someone who drinks that stuff? Gotta be insane."  
  
Three pairs of eyes drifted slowly over to where George Huang was sitting. He clicked into active mode, though he had been quietly listening the whole time. First though, he stood, and paced up and down the room. It helped him think sometimes. Helped him to reason through a theory, especially when he was doing it on the spot like this.  
  
"Well-" Huang said cautiously- "this man's not insane. Not entirely. He is doing this as a form of revenge. To him its a way of getting back at the NYPD. At women."  
  
"Why?" All three of his captive audience asked at once.  
  
He smiled. "He's offended before - I'm not sure how badly - and he resents having been punished for that."  
  
"So what, this guy thinks he should have got away with attacking someone?" Fin said incredulously, spreading his hands wide in an expression of disbelief.  
  
"Detective, I think you're exactly right. This guy doesn't see why he had to spend time in prison, and this is his way of getting his own back."  
  
In other words, the killer was angry, and yet methodical. Careful. He was, as much as it disgusted everyone to think of it, good at what he did. There were no physical clues whatsoever, and what clues there were suggested that the killer had left them deliberately. The alcohol had been dripped in one tiny spot, in the top-right of the front of the card left at the Griffin crime scene. The threads of wool that had been uncovered at each crime scene were midrange, easily available. Nothing they could follow up on.  
  
"Why Elliot? Why not focus on someone else?" Cragen asked.  
  
Huang nodded. "I was just getting to that. I believe that the focus on Elliot came late because of the media leak - but the killer has met him. This is...intimate. Personal. Elliot was probably involved in the original case."  
  
"So these rapes and murders are an amplification of what the killer had already done?"  
  
"In my opinion, definitely."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Icy winds rolled across the concrete surface of the basketball court, whirling leaves round in mini-tornado style. Yells and shouts burst across the air, evidence of a game going on. Twelve boys, one girl, playing a hard game of basketball. One team wore old school football jerseys, taken from the huge bins round the back of the local high school building when the football coach had decided he could no longer go on patching them up. The royal blue was faded to a musty colour, and none of the jerseys was in a good condition. The other team wore plainclothes. They had been playing for while, ignoring the sweat dripping down their faces and wetting their hair even in the cool weather, when a miscued shot bounced way over the fence. It landed in the park, near a cluster of small trees.  
  
The girl was first to complain, shouting at the boy who'd made the shot. "Awww, Bobby! Go get the ball!" She said in clear irritation.  
  
Bobby grumbled, brushed a leaf off his musty-blue jersey and started jogging out of the fenced-off court. He liked basketball, and he liked playing it with his friends, but he didn't have the skills really. It was always him going chasing after the ball in the park. Always.  
  
He jogged over the slightly wet, slightly frozen ground, wary of the treacherous surface underneath his battered Nike trainers. They didn't have much grip on them anymore, not after how long he'd been wearing them. And his brother before him. Bobby started walking halfway to the tree, and ignored the annoyed, indignant yells of his friends back on the court. If they wanted it so urgently, they could go get it themselves. He was walking.  
  
When he reached the ball, Bobby was careful to pick it up slowly as possible. A part of him was definitely enjoying winding them up. Especially Jennifer. She was a royal pain. 'That's not what you told your brother.' Bobby's brain reminded him, with an inner voice that was way too cheery for his liking.  
  
With the yellowing ball in his small, calloused hands, Bobby prepared to go back - but something caught his eye. It was a kind of olive-brown, definitely not mud. Part of the boy's brain told him to back off, to get away before he got himself into trouble. That part obviously wasn't big enough, because Bobby stepped closer and crouched down for a closer look.  
  
"Hey Bobby! What the hell are you doing over there?!" Jennifer yelled, her powerful voice carrying from right over on the court.  
  
"Nothing!" He yelled back over his shoulder. "Just thought I saw something in the leaves."  
  
"OK, whatever. Just bring the ball back."  
  
He grimaced. She was always the one in charge. A smile crept across his face. Jennifer would just have to wait. His attention turned back to the leaves, just as a gust of wind caught them, lifting a wave of wet, mulchy plant material into his face. Bobby spluttered, and waved at the leaves, scraping them off his face first, then his already-dirty football jersey. The ball bounced back into the leaves, coming to a rest against the patch of olive-brown that had caught his interest before.  
  
With a sudden creeping sense of horror, the boy reached for the ball, disturbing the leaves around it. His mind began screaming as they fell, and his mouth started soon after. Bobby's legs propelled him away fast, scrabbling and stumbling over the wet earth, muddying his jeans in his efforts to get away. Behind him a human elbow poked out from the edge of a leaf drift. 


End file.
